Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me
Bless His holy name...
It was the perfect selection: Andraé Crouch. Perfectly proper, perfectly black, and perfectly emblematic of Grandpa's sly, quiet brand of sociopolitical subterfuge. The ethnicity of those who sang was obvious to all who listened, but it was never highlighted. The blackness of the singers was spelled with a small "B", not a capital. Even so, there were no white voices to be heard competing for the microphone. The implication seemed to be that Color...didn't matter.
However much Esperanza might have wanted to, she could not find any fault with it. To attempt it was to look like a brat, so she swallowed her irritation and settled into a soft smile. Well played, Grandpa. Well played. Was it homage or cultural appropriation? Grandpa was white, so it could have been argued that he had no business using it for his funeral, but it was clear to all who knew him, Esperanza included, that he had genuinely loved that song. He had sung it with such frequency and passion, in fact, that one could be forgiven for thinking it had meant more to him than it had to the composer.
She had caught him once, while he waited for her in another room, quietly singing it with tears running down his cheeks and voice heavy with a resolve that was almost defiant. She doubted she would ever forget the hard stare he had leveled at the wall as he sang, "He has done great things". Was there something he had known that she hadn't? Either way, the sight had spooked her. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she also couldn't shake the feeling that she had witnessed something important that day. That feeling pricked her one final time as he was carried out of the church. Little Sophia watched the ceremony with innocent, uncomprehending eyes.